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There are quite a few tasks for Aventurine to complete after officially being reinstated as a Stoneheart. For one- the paperwork, practically a mountain of it. He spends several nights of his mandatory bed rest working through all of it. He comes out of it with a splitting headache, and while he could simply pop a few pills and call it a day, he decides to visit his favorite doctor instead. He’s supposed to be checking in with him anyway. Which he definitely has not been doing. He’s been busy, okay? The grind never stops.
Dr. Ratio isn’t very happy to see him, which shouldn’t be the case, considering he’s the one that wanted to check in with him in the first place. But that familiar scowl is a welcome sight, after all the other looks he’s been receiving recently.
“You have not been keeping up with our scheduled meetings.”
“Geez, doc, you make it sound like I’ve been skipping out on a hook-up or something.”
“It is incredibly important for you to maintain your health at this time-”
Aventurine waves him off, blase as usual.
“I’ve been fine, Ratio. Completely cleared by the Stonehearts, in fact. I’ve got a mission assignment. I leave tomorrow.”
This was the other reason he’d visited. There’s several beats of silence, before Ratio sighs, sounding utterly defeated.
“What in the universe could they possibly be asking you to do? Is your presence truly necessary? Have you tried negotiating? I am willing to step in and state my recommendation for your continued rest-”
It’s Aventurine’s turn to sigh, shaking his head. They haven’t looked at each other this entire time.
“You know that’s not possible. It’s not that bad, anyway. Just some stupid business meeting… in Penacony.”
Ratio’s head snaps back to him. Oh, now he looks unhappy.
“Penacony. The very place you had to be dragged out of, the source of an injury that, might I remind you, is far from being fully healed, that is likely to cause a number of symptoms to resurface. That Penacony?”
Aventurine winces at each of his pointed words, offering a shaky smile to ease him.
“Yeah. That Penacony.” He once again waves. “But it’ll be fine. Like I said, it’s just a business meeting. Probably won’t even be that long.”
“I still must strongly advise against you going on this mission. At least let me accompany you.”
“Yeah, because our collaboration went so well last time. You almost outed me. They’re not going to let you shadow me, if that’s what you’re thinking of. I don’t need to be coddled. I can handle myself.”
“I am aware. And no, you do not need to be. But you are hurt, and it could get worse-”
“Worse than this?” Aventurine gestures to his chest. Ratio clenches his jaw, looking away. He’s one of the few that knows what lies underneath his opulent garments- a deep, infected gash. A fresh wound, in both body and mind.
“...You don’t have to do this.”
Aventurine’s smile is sadly accepting.
“Yes, I do. You know that.”
Ratio takes a hesitant step closer. The doctor has always been pushy, when it comes to getting Aventurine, his most stubborn patient, to care for himself. This, though, is… something more.
Aventine's fist clenches behind his back, hand slightly shaking as he ventures to make a request. "If you're so worried, you could just come with me."
He can tell from the grim expression on Ratio's face that no, he can't, actually.
“I cannot do that. A counter-offer. You could let me care for you. I will shoulder whatever backlash you may be expecting.”
Aventurine wants so badly to walk into Ratio’s embrace. To be cared for, just as he’s promising. Instead, he slides one of his rings off, the one he keeps on his index finger; the one with the bright blue gem. He rolls stares at it for a moment, before putting it down on the table. He doesn’t meet Ratio’s gaze, but slides it towards him.
“Here. For good luck. I probably won’t need it.” He turns, yet hesitates. “I’ll be back. At some point. Wait for me?” Ratio doesn’t respond. Aventurine huffs. “Right. Well…” he smiles over his shoulder, but Ratio isn’t even looking at him. “Bye, doc. See you soon.”
The meeting is, in fact, not over quickly, something Aventurine can only accept as he announces that yet another round of drinks is on him. It must be at least the fourth one by now- his bank account won’t be suffering, but his liver surely will be. Though it doesn’t affect him much; he’s long been able to handle his substances, more than the average five foot eleven man. He tries not to make a habit of getting drunk, but hey, if the meeting is calling for it, what can he do? Sometimes that’s just the way the pendulum swings. Sometimes, men like to be drunk, in order to excuse their rather inappropriate touches. Yet another thing he’s not unused to. If it makes them more amenable to his blatant manipulative business tactics, he can put up with a guy’s hand on his ass. It’s not the hand he’d like to have on his ass- that remains in fantasy only, as per usual.
They’ve been at it for more than an hour now. What started as simple negotiations in a private room at the back of a bar quickly devolved into useless, friendly rounds of poker, which Aventurine naturally swept through. Everyone had laughed off his unlikely victories, thankfully; not everyone always takes so kindly to his lucky streaks.
It’s after the latest round of drinks ordered that things start to go wrong.
“Say,” Mr. McCoy, the executor of the bunch, hiccups, pointing his glass at Aventurine. “You’re an Avgin, aren’tcha?”
Well… not something he’s unused to answering, though he’d truly prefer not to get into the details.
“I sure am, my good sir. Avgin, right to the bone.”
There’s a predatory smile on his face, something Aventurine is used to recognizing.
“Is it true your kind are temptresses?” He’s careful to keep his placid smile, willing his nose not to wrinkle at the use of “your kind.” He’s human, same as the rest of them, why can’t anybody ever understand that?
…One does, but he isn’t here.
Aventurine lets out a light-hearted laugh, waving off the notion. “No, not really. Maybe a few of us, but, ah, not exactly anyone to carry on that legacy now, you know?” He laughs again, as if he isn’t a pawn of the very company that is responsible for him being the last Avgin.
There's a hand on his shoulder from behind, and it's only because Aventurine is so disciplined that he manages to stop himself from turning around and shooting whoever it is. Their grip is tight, meant to keep him seated. Never a good sign, but Aventurine keeps his cool, pleasant smile, barely turning his head to the man behind him.
"If there's nothing else, my good sirs…" He motions to the contract in front of him. Something about asset reclamation. The IPC may own a fair amount of Penacony's shares, but that doesn't include individual businesses. While most were willing to merge into the deal, some were… tricky. He's really not sure why Jade wouldn't be the one handling this. Why this particular group is even important. Why should he care about some supposed "VIPs?" He's still more than them. They hardly deserve a seat at the table, though they act like they're the ones running the entire casino.
"I'd like to negotiate the terms," the man says, not even looking at the paper as he slides it aside and leans over the table between them. Leering, looming. "I'd like you."
Ah. Of course. Who doesn't want a piece of the last Avgin?
Aventurine laughs, too light, as if he's among friends, instead of predators.
"I'm afraid I'm not for sale. If the terms aren't to your liking-" His hand trails up, to his communication device, covering the motion with a subtle tuck of his hair. Unfortunately, the man behind him notices, and catches his wrist before he can tap it, signaling he'd like a pickup. His smile still does not fall, and he feigns a look of innocence as he tilts his head to look back at him. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm afraid we don't want to let you go yet, Avgin."
Alright. It's time to start calculating.
Seven men, all bigger than him. Presumably not following any Path, because what Aeon would bless these pigs? Guard behind him, keeping him still, guard at the door. He has a gun. They also have guns. Defense isn't enough to brute force his way out of this. No Cornerstone; he can't afford to lose that again, he'd be good as dead. No backup.
Yeah. He's kind of fucked.
He should have many other priorities right now, but all he can think is how mad Ratio is going to be. Less importantly, how annoyed the other Stonehearts are going to be. Hey, at least his Cornerstone isn't at risk this time, right? Only himself, and he's already aware he's a disposable asset.
Once again, he falls back on his negotiation skills.
"Gentlemen, I'm sure we can all agree this is hardly the place to… well, I'm sure we can arrange for a much better setting for this sort of thing." If he just delays them, he can call in someone else to handle the case. And if they still refuse to back down, then the IPC won't be losing much by denying their business. It's a coward's way out, sure, but it's all Aventurine has. "I assure you, the IPC can book the finest lodgings in Penacony- or any planet for that matter."
The main man is glaring now. Not a good sign.
"Trying to slip away? You Avgins really are schemers."
Aventine's smile slips by a fraction. Guess it's the hard way out.
"You know if your men lay a hand on me," and he glares at the man holding him, "you'll never see a cent from the IPC." Objectively untrue. If it was a worthwhile business decision, they would turn a blind eye to it in a heartbeat. But these are just some lowlifes.
The main man laughs, making Aventine's frown tick deeper.
"Oh, little Stoneheart. It was never about the money."
At that, there's a flash of silver in his periphery, and the blond bolts up, attempting to get out of the vice group of the bodyguard, to no avail. He's nearly crushing his wrist now. Aventurine hisses, but that isn't the worst of it. No, now he can see what that flash of silver was.
A syringe.
If Aventurine thought he was scared before, now the fight or flight really sets in.
"You-" he tries to steady his breath, still maintaining as much distance as he can from the man holding him. He turns, facing the man in charge of this whole cursed operation. "You don't have to do this." He hates looking like this, hates feeling like this. Weak. Small. Like a little child again, like Kakavasha, who he thought he had let go of all those months ago in this very same Dreamscape. He feels like crying, or screaming, or maybe clawing his eyes out so no one will ever look at him and think Avgin again. He wishes he was as mundane as his dear doctor. He wishes he was here to save him.
No one is here to save him. No one ever is.
He tries to fight. He knows it won't do any good; it might make it worse, actually. But he has to try for Aeon's sake.
"Why fight it?" a voice behind him purrs. Aventurine never takes his eyes off the man with the syringe, so he doesn't even risk a glance backward. He doesn't need to, to feel the embrace of the body, pressing into him, caressing him. A cold shudder runs through his body despite the heat. He has to resist the urge to empty the contents of his stomach from tonight at the feeling of hands on his hips. Sliding all over him, claiming him, just like how things used to be.
Another hand comes to brush over the brand on his neck, and he snaps.
He turns on a dime, slipping out of the grip he was held in, rounding on the man behind him and taking him to the floor with him. Small hands find the flesh of his neck, the thump of his pulse, and squeeze. All around him, people clamor to stop him, and he feels a sharp stab in his neck. His vision begins to blur, but he keeps squeezing, watching the fear in the man's eyes. The same fear he'd seen the night he killed his master.
He isn't so lucky this time. He can tell his grip is loosening, and after another moment of the drug flowing through him, he's tossed unceremoniously on the floor, huffing and trying in vain to claw at him still. He sees the man rub his neck through bleary vision, and grins, somewhat maniacally. Even if he didn't succeed, he still gave them a show. Showed them what he's capable of. If it sentences him to a harsher fate, who cares? If he's going to be raped anyway, they might as well kill him. Despite all his efforts to live, it would still be a relief.
Aventurine's vision goes dark just as he feels himself being hauled off.
Aventurine does not wake calmly. Really, he never does, jarred awake by nightmares and pain alike. The drugs seem to have kept his dreams at bay, but the pain is still there, in his chest, when he gasps awake to unfamiliar surroundings yet familiar feelings.
Namely that there is something wet inside him.
He keeps his eyes closed, though from the sudden jolts that shoot through his limb, its likely pretty clear that he's awake. He doesn't want to see it. If he just pretends this is a nightmare; it's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not-
Somebody slaps him, and his eyes shoot open.
He's naked, of course. Never spared an ounce of modesty, even as the men around him seem to have kept most of their clothes on. It makes him the most vulnerable one in the room, in body and mind. Though perhaps they haven't realized: Aventurine of Stratagems doesn't have time for shame. That is one luxury he cannot afford.
Bright eyes scan the room, flitting between faces and exits and weapons. Finally, his eyes land on the scene in front of him. That man. Smiling at him. A grin that Aventurine has worn many times- an expression that says "I've won, and you've lost."
He's being fingered open, which is almost surprising. He wouldn't have thought this lot would even bother. And it's always more humiliating to wake up to being fucked. A particularly cruel client had once started fucking his throat while he was unconscious, and he woke up choking, thinking he was dying. He wished he was. For all the reflecting he had done since Penacony, since he had died, technically, he wished for that now as well.
"Looks like Sleeping Beauty's awake!" Aventurine doesn't deign to respond. He hardly has any reaction to what's happening. He's learned that it's a good way to piss people off, when he doesn't cry and beg like they no doubt want him to. He sees that flicker of anger in the man's eyes, and he suppresses a smirk. Seemingly out of spite, the man presses his finger harder inside him, happening to brush his prostrate. That does get an unintentional reaction out of him. His whole body jerks, though it's slightly restrained by his hands, both handcuffed to opposite ends of the bed he's on. They didn't tie up his legs though, and he kicks out, only somewhat meaning to make contact with the other's face. The man reels back, and Aventurine hisses at the sudden absence of touch.
"Little… bitch!" Aventurine almost rolls his eyes at that. Nobody is ever creative with their insults anymore.
There is a slight pang of regret in his heart, not for his actions, but for the consequences he knows he will reap. Playing along is a shot to his pride, but it is safe. And yet, he never does. Not anymore. Maybe he knows he deserves better, despite his rotten heart, his despicable, lying nature. Maybe he knows begging for mercy from monsters is pointless in the end. And he can take it. Aventurine of Stratagems is unbreakable, except for when he isn't. There are still times he feels so very fragile.
Mostly when he's in the hands of that good doctor.
Someone slaps him again.
"Hey, no spacing out. I want you to feel this."
Caught in his thoughts of better men, he failed to notice the man in front of him preparing himself. His cock is just as ugly as the rest of him; Aventurine already knows it will be too short for him to gain any instinctual pleasure from having it inside him. At least his fingers had actually brushed his prostate. Though that was probably an accident. Men like this don't give a damn about anyone's enjoyment but their own.
Even if the man is pathetically lacking in size, Aventurine does still feel it. It's as violating as it always is, despite Aventurine's many experiences in this department. He never gets used to it. His body never adjusted. Neither did his mind.
He starts to cry, despite himself. It's not as if this is worse than any other time. But it hits him then, how alone he is. He may be in a room full of people, and he often is, but he is always alone.
He wants to scream, but the only thing he can muster is gasped sobs, choking on his tears. The man must think it's because of him, with the way he's smiling again. He'll let him think that. Let him think that Aventurine is broken, that he was the one to finally do in his sanity.
Maybe he is broken. Unsalvageable. Used up, a fountain long run dry. No one to fix him, though some have tried. Absolutely, utterly hopeless.
There's a voice in his ear, and for a moment, he brushes it off as one of the people in the room. But it crackles, too similar to the tone of a phone call to be someone actually next to him. His earpiece. They didn't take it, he realizes, his sniffles stopping long enough for him to process what he's hearing.
"Aventurine? Aventurine, can you hear me? We're coming to get you. Just hold on."
Oh. That's Topaz. Did he manage to send out a message after all? He has another realization- he doesn't know how long he's been out. A scary thought for many reasons. They could have done anything to his body in that time, though he's sure he would've noticed if they did. Maybe he's been gone just long enough to ring some alarm bells.
Did Ratio…?
No, he shouldn't be thinking about him right now. If he starts down that road, he'll want to imagine him and Ratio together like this. And that, to Aventurine, is just as violating as what is happening to him.
But he can live with this violation, if he has to. He's not supposed to die here. Do stay alive. That's what he said. So he will, even if it hurts, and aches, and he is broken.
His surroundings come back into focus again. Several of the men around him are jacking off. He's surprised they haven't opted to use his mouth, but he's not exactly complaining. It's always a good day when he doesn't have to touch anyone, or have to wash the taste of cum out of his mouth.
The man still thrusting into him is almost drooling- Aventurine would be flattered if he wasn't so disgusted. Truly, they're all like animals. Maybe they're the ones who should be kept in cages. The man grips his hips, no doubt leaving bruises that will serve as a grim reminder for days to come.
Scratch that, they definitely should.
"Hey, little whore. Are you ready to take my seed?" Aventurine grimaces at his words. Of course he would want to cum inside, make Aventurine "feel it," as he'd said earlier. Another decency he is not afforded. It'll take ages to scrub it all out. Longer still to scrub away the feeling of their hands. Though that phantom sensation is hardly new to him.
Aventurine smiles sweetly. "If you can manage to squeeze anything out."
Is it a bad idea to provoke the man with a dick in his ass? Yeah. Does he give a fuck anymore? No. No he does not.
The man's face turns a delightful shade of red- though not as lovely as the red of his doctor's sunset eyes.
Veritas Ratio isn't his, but he thinks he deserves to have his delusions for now.
The thrusts get rougher, the grip tighter as the man reaches his finish, along with several of his friends. He feels some spend splat on his arms and chest, but his eyes are locked firmly with the one inside him. His gaze isn't reciprocated, but he isn't looking for that. In their last moments together, he wants to remember this man's face. He'll make sure this is the last day he sees the sun.
He's a man with power now, after all. Not just some scrawny Avgin slave.
Even if it's hard not to feel like that little boy in moments like this, when he's left dirty and chained, the men around him clean and free.
Aventurine almost expects them to drug him again, but maybe his bad attitude really did have consequences. He watches them leave, several of them throwing suggestive comments his way as they do- "See you next time," and "thank you for your service."
He tries not to cry again. He's already covered in enough salty fluids. It's difficult though, lying there, alone in the silence. Reflecting. An Aventurine left to sit with his thoughts is never a very stable Aventurine. So he screams and he cries and he thrashes, all into the empty air, until he's thoroughly exhausted himself.
He doesn't even know if anyone is coming. He could've hallucinated that message, for all he knows. He could die here, and someone would find him eventually, and they'd throw away the case as just another dead whore in over his head.
He has to hope. For all the times no one has answered his prayers, he's still Gaiathra's golden child. He has to believe that she will get him out of this.
Hope lulls him to sleep. Hope lets him hear the voices surround him. It lets him sleep through the trip back home, knowing that it's real, not a figment of the afterlife.
Hope brings him back to his doctor.